


breaking a promise I made to a version of me

by crookedspoon



Series: made of glass [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Knight
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beating, Gen, POV Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: The last thing he remembers is falling, then blackness. He'd thought he'd be falling into infinity. But the ground had stopped him, as it always does.





	breaking a promise I made to a version of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BleuStrawberriez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuStrawberriez/gifts).

> For Day 6 "Didn't Die AU" at the Jason Todd Birthday Week challenge and "Joker" from my Batfam Bingo card. Written for Bleu, because she encouraged this idea.
> 
> This is a loose sequel to Once was I made of glass (the first in the made of glass series; don't read if you don't like torture/selfcest), in which Arkham Knight Jason has travelled back in time to prepare his former self for what's to come. This can be read as indeterminate canon, however.

Jason groans as he comes to. His body is a minefield of bruises and a soreness so deep he feels like a rheumatic geezer every time he moves. Not that it's much of a new feeling. He's never not bruised or sore, it's just a new order of magnitude, amplified by ten.

The last thing he remembers is falling, then blackness. He'd thought he'd be falling into infinity. But the ground had stopped him, as it always does.

There's blood in his mouth, or was, but a quick probe with his tongue assures him that none of his teeth are missing. His hands are tied and he's blindfolded. None of this comes as surprise. By this point, waking up tied to a chair or a pole or any other handy nearby structure has become a work hazard. Nothing to break a sweat about.

"Oh no, I'm all tied up," he calls out, sarcasm evident in every syllable. "Batman, please come save me."

It's not only villains who enjoy seeing him in ropes – his own future self made him go through an entire training plan on escape artistry, stopping his times and demanding Jason do it over and over and over until his wrists were raw and his joints aching. And Jason put himself through it because he _wanted _to meet Jay's high expectations. He doesn't know at what point it became paramount to spare no pains to get Jay's approval, but he has to hand it to himself. Either of his selves. It did pay off in the end.

Jason is not afraid anymore, and it's not bravado. It's security. He knows what he's capable of and what he can handle. Jay has pushed him to breaking more times than he can count, obsessed with turning Jason into a perfect fighting machine – because if Jason is strong, nothing will happen to him anymore. No one can hurt him.

It's done what it was supposed to do: it's made Jason harder. The clown doesn't scare him anymore. None of these freaks do. They can string him up over whirring rotor blades for all the cares. He'll find a way out.

"Ah, the little Robin is awake and already crying for Daddy Bats," Joker sing-songs. His footsteps click on he cold stone floor as he steps toward him and lifts the blindfold. "How do you like it so far from your nest?"

"Accommodation's shit." Jason glares up at Joker. His gloved fingers have been lingering too long on his head already, but Jason refuses to budge. "Company's even shittier."

Joker's garish grin slips and for a moment Jason anticipates a punch that never comes. Then the grin is back in full force. The tip of a switchblade _snicks _out just below his left eye. "That's all a matter of perception, isn't it? I can help you change the way you _see _things."

Jason shoots back a grin of his own. The knot is loose now. 

"Thanks. I like the way I see things just fine." There's 

Jason slings the rope over Joker's arm and ducks aside just in time to save his eye. Jason doesn't know if the bead rolling down his cheek is sweat or if Joker managed to nick him after all. It doesn't matter. 

Jason pulls the rope tight. The knife clatters to the ground. Joker tries to yank his hand free, but Jason's grip is stronger. He pulls him in for a punch to the face, then coils the rope around his neck and leverages him against his chest, lifting his feet off the ground. It's so very satisfying to feel him struggle.

Unfortunately, Joker is resourceful. He would not have held out against Batman this long if he weren't. There's a sharp, acidic smell when he bursts free. Jason stumbles back, the ends of several shorter ropes in his hands. He drops them just in time to fend off a knife attack. Joker's eyes are burning with rage. Jason uses the momentum of Joker's next charge to throw him into the trolley that carried the equipment Joker no doubt wanted to intimidate, if not torture, Jason with. A bonesaw, an electric drill, and other items fall to the ground.

Joker picks himself up with a lot more agility one would not suspect behind his bony frame. He picks something else up as well. Throwing a scalpel at Jason, Joker lunges at him.

Jason dodges the scalpel, but the crowbar catches him by the jaw. Pain judders through him, intensifying his already pounding headache. Jason is not amused.

"Don't worry," Joker croons, thinking he has the upper hand. "I'll take care of you."

He swings again. This time, Jason catches the crowbar in his bare hand and smiles. His teeth must be stained red; he tastes blood. Joker's eyes widen. 

"Or maybe I'll take care of you," Jason quips and kicks Joker's front. It has the nice side effect that he willingly lets go.

Jason hoists the weapon to get a better grip, feels its heft, its weight. His breathing deepens. His heart thuds in his ears.

The first swing is a test, nothing more than a love tap, to get an idea of the feedback: how the shock from the impact would travel up his arm, what Joker's pained groans would do to him.

How he might come to enjoy the pain he inflicts.

Even before he became Robin, his bare fists had been his primary weapons. You weren't really a fighter if you couldn't protect yourself using only your body. Anyone can wield a weapon; it doesn't make you strong. That one time he'd used a bottle in self-defense, he'd managed to bang up Willis pretty good before he'd used it against him. Jason still carries the scars from that night, a testament to how weak he used to be.

He's no longer that gangly kid. He can take a beating, and dish one out as well. He'll never be a victim again. _Like those school children the Joker blew up. An entire bus full._

There are some things that can't be forgiven. That can't be ignored. He's not like Bruce. He can't look at the injustices of the world and not _do _something about them. Permanently.

And he _can _do something about this vermin.

Bruce is not going to like this. But then again, he hasn't liked Jason's recent development either, so what else is new? Jason never told him about Jay's involvement. He would have put a stop to it, and then Jason would be the one bleeding on the floor.

"How do you like a taste of your own medicine?" Jason asks, although he's not sure Joker can hear him through his own cries. He's a whiner who thinks Jason will stop if he begs pathetically enough. Who knows, might work on some people. Jason, however, is not so easily duped. "Not so funny now, huh?"

Bruce needn't worry. His buddy, the Joker, will still be alive by the time Jason is done with him.

Whether he wants to be is another question.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Critical Darling" by Slipknot.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you'd like to leave a comment, I'd enjoy that very much. Please be advised that I do not, however, enjoy character bashing.


End file.
